Objectivism
by Alabaster86
Summary: A series of drabbles that examines objects of importance to characters in the Avatar world, both primary and secondary...ratings may vary.
1. Chapter 1

**Objectivism**

_**Little Blue Beads**_

"_Come here; let me put these in your hair." _

Her voice was mischievous, full of laughter and with that slightly deeper tone that hinted at arousal. The children giggled and watched with wide blue eyes as their mother put simple blue beads in two strands of their father's brown hair. Kya sat back on her haunches and examined her handiwork.

"_What do you think, children? Does your Daddy look handsome? I certainly think so."_

They nodded and agreed with loud exclamations that Daddy was indeed the most handsome man in the whole world.

"_But you haven't seen the whole world." _

His voice was soothing and melodious, always a comfort. Large hands reached out to tickle the little boy and the little girl. They curled up defensively, wrapping arms around their middles, trying to evade the hands. It was no use, though. Strong fingers found their way by the defenses and attacked mercilessly. The children broke out into peals of laughter that sounded very, very loud inside the skin tent.

"_One day I will." _

When the tickling hands retreated, the daughter spoke with a surety that surprised her parents. Her pretty face was scrunched up with concentration as she tried to imagine what the 'whole world' might be like.

"_I believe you."_

The father, his name was Hakoda, smiled at his little girl.

"_Why don't you go out and play now. Daddy and I have some things to talk about."_

Kya and Hakoda watched as their children lifted the flap of the tent and went out into the bright sunshine of a beautiful winter day. When the boy and girl were gone they turned to each other.

"_So, I like the beads."_

"_Good, now come over here."_

They kissed then. Her fingers found the two bits of hair and gave them a gentle tug.

* * *

><p>Hakoda didn't believe in putting value on objects. People were what mattered, especially the ones you loved and had sworn to protect. Things could be repaired or replaced, people could not. The tragic death of his beloved wife, Kya, had taught him that all too well. She was gone forever, perhaps waiting in the Spirit World, perhaps not. He still hadn't made his mind up about all that. He jokingly told his best and truest friend, Bato, that he would find out soon enough, upon his own death.<p>

Still, there were certain things in the Water Tribe warrior's possession that meant a lot, despite his beliefs. Objects did have a certain power. They could evoke a memory, good or bad, treasured or best forgotten, and they sometimes provided a link of sorts to someone lost. Hakoda's heart would constrict with both pain and pride every time he watched his daughter, Katara, reverently touch the necklace she wore proudly around her neck. It had been Kya's once, a symbol of the powerful love between him and his wife. Now it was the girl's way of remembering a mother she lost far too soon, a mother she adored and missed fiercely. The intensity of Katara's grief sometimes overwhelmed Hakoda and he was unsure just how to comfort her. He would push his own pain down and try to help his little girl, his little piece of Kya. And he would touch the beads that decorated his hair; simple circles of blue that Kya had playfully slipped on one day, not long before her death.

Hakoda had never taken them out and when he reached up and felt their reassuring presence, somehow Kya was closer.


	2. Chapter 2

**Objectivism**

_**Chapter 2: Heavy is the Crown**_

It was a ritual Roku began a few weeks into his Avatar training. Every night, before he went to sleep, the young Avatar unpinned his hairpiece and placed it reverently on the bare bedside table beside his simple bed. He stared at the object, using it as a focal point, something to begin his reminiscences with. He enjoyed the Southern Air Temple and he loved the monks, especially Gyatso. But Roku also missed the Fire Nation. He missed home, he missed his love and he missed his friends, especially Sozin, Prince of his native country and next in line to be Fire Lord.

Roku was allowed no worldly possessions during his training. So, he couldn't bring portraits or a favorite book or the last letter that Ta Min had written him. But Sozin, always so intelligent and always finding ways around the rules, had given his best friend the very crown that adorned his topknot; the prince's crown. It was beautiful, old, an artifact even. When Sozin had matter of factly unpinned the crown and handed it over, Roku was shocked. Princes just don't give away their crowns. Sozin was special, though. He was funny and passionate and a fiercely loyal friend. He hadn't wanted Roku to go off into the world of Avatar training with nothing to remember his homeland and his royal friend by.

Roku recalled putting the crown into his hair for the first time. He had hardly noticed its weight. The heavy stylized flames that made up the headpiece, a beautifully crafted work of art, graced his head as if they belonged there. He felt special wearing the crown and forever linked to Sozin. And when he looked at it, Roku thought of home.

* * *

><p>Years later, when everything had changed and Sozin was more an enemy than a friend, a person whom Roku no longer understood, a person he could not stand behind, the Avatar continued to wear the crown. His wife, Ta Min, looked at the hairpiece with sorrow and anger. Sozin had betrayed them and their friendship. The Fire Lord had betrayed everything good and become a monster. She could not understand why Roku hung on to the damnable thing. Roku would just smile at her and pat her hand and tell her that he couldn't give up on Sozin completely. Maybe there was hope for the Fire Lord. Once he had been a carefree prince, kind and decent, after all. Somewhere inside, that prince must still be alive.<p>

Ta Min was right, as it turned out. The prince never returned and Sozin betrayed Roku in the end, leaving him to die. As he closed his eyes, Roku thought of his wife, glad that she had escaped the volcano. Then he thought of Sozin and the crown that had meant so much. He hoped that one day, if it was ever found, the crown might become a symbol of friendship and hope once again.

* * *

><p>Zuko turned the crown over and over in his hands. He wasn't sure yet how he felt about it. His great grandfather Sozin had given it to his great grandfather Roku. That was a lot to deal with right there. He was Avatar and he was Fire Lord, two bloodlines that seemed at odds with each other. But maybe he could make it work. Maybe he could find a balance between the two and maybe one day, he and the Avatar could be friends.<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

**Objectivism**

_**Chapter 3: Something to Grow Into**_

Jet told the story often, usually over dinner or when the Freedom Fighters were celebrating a particularly great victory over the Fire Nation. The Duke would sit proudly a few seats down from his leader, a silly sort of grin on his face, helmet that was far too large for his eight year old head constantly shifting downwards to cover his brown eyes.

"And when we caught him going through the food, he didn't apologize or look scared. He stood up all straight and tough, made tiny fists and proceeded to threaten me. You gotta remember, this was three years ago and he was barely out of diapers."

Everyone laughed, the children especially, some of them rolling about the floorboards of the treehouse, gripping their aching stomachs. Jet reached over and gave The Duke a nudge and a wink, chewing on the piece of grass that perpetually hung from his lips. The little boy beamed brightly back at the head Freedom Fighter and then dug into his meal.

"Tell us about how The Duke got his helmet!" one of the youngest children cried. She was about six, with long brown braids and a dirty face. One of her arms bore a nasty looking burn scar and she was constantly rubbing it.

"Well now," Jet continued. "Once The Duke, I gave him that name because he couldn't remember his own, joined the Freedom Fighters, he wanted to fight right away. He hated the Fire Nation almost as much as I do."

The group erupted into loud cheers, and then chants of 'Down with the Fire Nation, Down with the Fire Nation" began, growing louder and louder until Jet raised his hand for silence. Immediately, an eerie hush fell over the Freedom Fighters.

"While I appreciate your enthusiasm, we don't want the enemy to find our whereabouts. We need to be careful, always." Jet looked at all the faces, one by one, making eye contact with each orphan, letting them know that they were all important and special. Once he knew they understood, Jet took up the threads of his tale.

"I wondered if maybe he was too young or too small, but The Duke was always a scrapper and boy was he tough. He wouldn't let the idea go, so I agreed, but only if he let Pipsqueak look out for him."

The giant of a man with the silly name waved at the kids and smiled. He was sitting beside The Duke as he always did, and though he appeared relaxed, every one of Pipsqueak's senses was on high alert. He took his job of looking after The Duke very seriously and if anyone messed with the eight year old, he would suffer.

"So, we took him out on a mission a few days later. The Duke was excited, so excited that he was shaking. It wasn't fear. I've never seen him scared. Anyway, there was a Fire Nation encampment a few miles from here and naturally we wanted to raid it, take what we could and cause some pain."

Jet's grin was almost predatory as he recalled that raid along with the many others he had been on over the past eight years. He enjoyed fighting, hurting, killing even, though he still had the decency to not cut someone's throat in front of The Duke.

"We had those soldiers on the run, even the firebending ones. The Duke sat on Pipsqueak's shoulders and from up there he could wrap himself around necks and generally make a real nuisance of himself. He did real good, great even and I was proud of our newest member."

The Duke was blushing now and wiping at his nose. Much as he enjoyed the story, Jet's hyperbole was overwhelming sometimes.

"When the fight was over and the Fire Nation soldiers were all down and out, unconscious or injured or tied up, I let The Duke take what he wanted from one of them. He didn't pick a knife or armor; he chose the helmet that he's wearing now. When he put it on and it fell down and covered most of his face, I said something to The Duke. What was it I said, The Duke?"

The little boy stood up, pinks cheek and a pleased expression on his face. "Jet said, he said, 'The helmet is something for you to grow into.'"

The Freedom Fighters, from Longshot and Smellerbee to all the tiny boys and girls, orphans all of them, cheered.

* * *

><p>A few years after the war ended, when The Duke was the ripe old age of eleven, his best friend, Toph, asked him about the helmet. She couldn't see it, of course, but she still knew how it felt and how it was constructed and had a good sense of what this helmet was like. She knew it was important to The Duke but she wasn't sure why he hung onto it so fiercely.<p>

"It reminds me of Jet," the boy replied simply.

"And you want to be reminded of him _why_?" Toph inquired with her usual bluntness.

"He took care of me when I had no one else. He wasn't all bad, Toph. I know he did bad things and I guess I did too, but we were like a family and I liked it."

The earthbender grunted in reply. She could understand that.

"And besides," The Duke added, "I still have some growing to do." He fiddled with the spike that sat atop the helmet and ran a hand down the smooth, shiny bronze. Then with a grin he popped it onto his head and laughed when it slid down just enough to impede his vision.

Toph punched his shoulder and smiled broadly. "Yeah, but you're almost there."


	4. Chapter 4

**Clear Vision**

Perched on the end of his nose, the tiny round glasses gave him the appearance of a scholar, spoke of wisdom and intelligence. Ironic that someone so ignorant of the world outside, so sheltered, should wear them. Kuei, Earth King like his father and grandfather before him, was nothing but a useless doll who spoke the words of his advisors and had, up until his awakening, continued to believe that outside the walls of Ba Sing Se, the city he 'ruled', peace reigned, not war. He'd _never_ had control of the city. The Dai Li truly ruled. And the most terrible thing _was_ he never realized how much he was being manipulated. Kuei's entire existence was a bad joke. His life up to that point had been nothing but a waste.

* * *

><p>He'd worn glasses since he was ten years old, a cheerful boy always smiling and always eager to see smiles on everyone else. Weeks of incessant complaining about blurry characters on the pages of his scrolls, all silly stories and legends, none factual, along with several close encounters with pieces of furniture, had earned him his first pair.<p>

The king could recall the sudden rush of pleasure as everything came into focus. The faces before him were crisp and well defined, each freckle and wrinkle clear as a spring morning. He could read his stories without help and his body healed all its bumps and bruises. The little prince, as people called him then, ran happily through the palace and out into the gardens, not colliding with anything. They were the first thing he reached for every morning and the last thing he removed every night. The glasses truly were a part of him.

Years later, when other things finally became clear, when Kuei learned, thanks to the Avatar and his friends, that nothing in his life was real, the glasses were all that he kept from his years as a king. Wandering destination less through the vastness of his country, trusty best friend Bosco the bear at his side, Kuei's eyes were opened further. He learned about the Earth Kingdom's regions and its people, what it had endured for a century and what it was enduring yet. He kept those glasses on, careful to protect them at all costs. Never had he wanted to see so badly.


	5. Chapter 5

**Objectivism**

**Chapter 5: Bound**

For half a year now it had graced her slender neck, the bold blue ribbon with the pendant hanging from it, a sign of ownership really, slavery to duty, rather than love.

Yue had never been a rebellious girl. She loved her tribe and she loved her parents. She understood from a young age that the princess of the Northern Water Tribe was different from the other girls. She had special obligations and one of those was to accept an arranged marriage with grace and dignity. Many young men of the tribe wanted to marry her; doing so would ensure their status and wealth. But only one man _could _marry her and Yue's father, Arnook, chose Hahn. He was sixteen and the son of the tribe's best hunter. He was also a self absorbed, self serving, arrogant jerk. Yue didn't like him, but she said nothing, just accepted her fate and put the betrothal necklace on with a smile.

It felt like a leash and sometimes she longed to just tear it off and run free. But she never did. The best Yue could do was to pretend once in a while that the necklace wasn't there. Outside, with her beautiful parka closed up all the way, constricting her throat almost, it was invisible from view, hidden beneath the cozy skin and fur that protected her from the North Pole's bone chilling cold. She felt almost free then, but for the guards, who constantly shadowed her, and the people who bowed, calling her princess and wishing her happiness in her upcoming marriage.

Inside once again, she shed her parka and there it was, reflected back at her through every shiny surface. It was a pretty thing, really, undeserving of her hatred, but those feelings had to go somewhere. Yue couldn't yell at her father or slap Hahn or pout in her room for days. Hating that betrothal necklace was her one outlet.

Walking with elegance befitting a princess, she joined her father for lunch.

"How are you today, Yue?" Arnook inquired, letting his eyes drift over his daughter momentarily.

"I'm just fine, father. It's a wonderful day, isn't it?"


	6. Chapter 6

**Objectivism**

**Chapter 6: Portrait of a Lady**

It was the one link he had to his missing mother, the portrait he had snatched from her rooms just days after her disappearance, those early days when he still hoped and believed that she would come home to him.

She didn't, of course, and the portrait took on more and more significance. It helped him to recall her face, that beautiful face, the face of a lady, one he never, ever wanted to forget. Portraits were _usually_ serious looking, in keeping with the idea of royalty, and this one was no different. But in addition to his mother's serious expression there was sadness in her eyes, a distant sort of pain that Zuko could recall seeing on her face. It saddened him and angered him as well. He knew who caused the pain and he hated the man for it. Funny, then, that he still craved his father's love, something he had yet to receive.

That wasn't what he liked to remember, though, as he gazed at the portrait. When he took it out from a hidden corner of his wardrobe, a spot he hoped was safe from Azula's prying eyes and roaming hands, Zuko would make sure that his door was locked, and then set it up on its special stand. He would light candles, using his slowly improving firebending and place them carefully around the portrait. It was like a shrine to one of the spirits and he would kneel before it.

He preferred to recall her laughing and smiling in his memories, teasing him about Mai or throwing stale bread to the turtleducks, encouraging them to swim over and say hello. Zuko would smile as he immersed himself in his memories. Sometimes they were so achingly vibrant and real that leaving the memories behind felt like drowning. Perhaps it wasn't healthy. Perhaps it would have been better to move forward and forget about his mother, much like Ozai and Azula had done. But he wouldn't and he couldn't. Ursa was too important to him. She had been his everything.

* * *

><p>When he was banished at thirteen, he left the portrait behind purposely, hoping that no one else would discover it. It was the lowest moment of his life, and he couldn't drag his mother into it. He was no longer a son to be proud of. He was a disgrace now, a terrible failure and looking at his mother's sad eyes would have broken him.<p>

It wasn't until more than three years later, finally back in the Fire Nation, when he decided to join the Avatar and help defeat his father, that he could look at the portrait of his mother again. He found it safe in his wardrobe, untouched, still wrapped in the layers of silk that he had so carefully put around it all that time ago.

He did what he used to and knelt before the painting, gazing once again at the lovely face. The candles flickered as he breathed heavily in and out, gathering his thoughts, memories of a lost mother filling his head once again. Almost more than anything, Zuko wanted to make her proud. He wanted to make her smile, wherever she was.


	7. Chapter 7

**Objectivism**

_**Chapter 7: Taking Flight**_

Aang couldn't sleep. It was autumn in the Southern Air Temple and cool breezes blew in through his bedroom window, rippling his simple yellow sleeping clothes. The young airbender shivered and pulled his blanket up under his chin, curling up tight on the hard stone slab that served as a bed.

Tomorrow was a big day; Aang was ten now, and when airbenders turned that special age, they received their gliders. He simply couldn't wait to take to the sky for the first time, bending the air around the glider, giving it lift so he could rise, leaving the earth behind for a while and soaring in his element.

Each glider was specially handcrafted, made from the finest light wood, hollowed out in the centre, and fitted with four wings. It wasn't only a glider; in fact, the instrument was a staff first, a defensive weapon of sorts, something the boy hoped he would never need to use.

Eventually, he drifted into a restless sort of slumber and awoke before the morning chimes rang. Rubbing at his sticky eyes, Aang dressed and then wandered into the dining hall for breakfast. Monk Gyatso, his mentor, the closest thing to a father that Aang had ever known, greeted him with a wink and a mischievous smile. The old monk was a good natured, fun loving man, who adored all his charges, but had a soft spot for Aang.

"Good morning ten year old Aang; are you ready to get your hands on that glider?"

"Oh yeah," the boy exclaimed excitedly. "I can't wait."

"Good, good, now go eat your breakfast with the others, then come outside." He gave Aang's bald head a rub, chuckled, and sat down to his own meal.

* * *

><p>Aang wanted to wolf his breakfast down and bolt out into the courtyard but that would be considered rude, so he ate carefully, chewing each bite. His friends, the other young airbenders raging in age from about seven through about fourteen, all eyed him, some with envy and some with a knowing look. Aang's heart was banging loudly off his ribs and his cheeks were slightly flushed.<p>

When he finished every last bite, he looked to Gyatso, who gave him a nod. Aang got up from his stone seat and walked outside. Once beyond the dining hall, he ran, giggling the whole way.

"Hang on there, young man, we need to wait for Monk Narayan. He's finishing his tea."

"Awww, it's taking forever," Aang whined. "I want to fly."

"Patience, patience, my boy; let's sit here on the ledge and wait." Gyatso patted the spot beside him and Aang sat.

The boy fidgeted, tapping his toes on the ground and his fingers on the ledge. When he saw Monk Narayan approach from the dining hall, Aang jumped up, his face split with a huge grin.

"Can I get it now?" he asked, putting his hands together pleadingly.

"What do you think, Gyatso?" He was clearly teasing Aang now, enjoying the sight of the squirming boy.

Gyatso walked over to a nearby alcove, reached in and pulled out the staff. Aang sucked in his breath as the older monk handed it to him with a bow. "Use it well, Aang."

"Thank you, Gyatso. Thank you Narayan; can I fly now?" He popped it open, watching in awe as the four orange wings appeared, two large and two small.

"Go!" Gyatso ordered, playfully creating a gust of wind that lifted the boy off his feet.

And Aang went, using the natural air currents that swirled above the mountaintop and creating his own. He flew all around the air temple, gazing awestruck down at the sights below him. He was flying all on his own, not on Appa, but by himself. It was exhilarating and exciting and Aang felt completely free, unencumbered by any of the little worries that ten year old boys had.

He had to come down sometime. He didn't want to, but he did, landing with a bright smile beside Gyatso.

"Well, how did you like it?" The monk leaned down and peered into Aang's face.

Aang thought for a moment and then declared with all his heart, "It was the best!"

"It is, isn't it?" Gyatso agreed. "I'm proud of you, Aang."

* * *

><p>When Avatar Aang watched his glider burn in the Fire Nation volcano, a tiny part of his heart broke. Another link to his long ago past was gone forever. <em>Gyatso<em> had handed that glider to him._ His_ hands had touched it lovingly._ His_ eyes had glowed with pride as he watched Aang fly for the first time. When Aang touched the glider, it felt as though he was still connected to Gyatso. It felt as though he was still connected to them all. So much loss, so much pain and now this; it hurt.

But it was time to face his future, the future that lay with his new family. He whispered a goodbye to the glider and turned to Katara.

"I'm ready to go."


	8. Chapter 8

**A Sense of Power**

Smellerbee knew very well that she looked like a boy now. Her hair was cropped short. She wore boy's clothes, painted her face like some ancient warrior going off into battle and carried assorted bladed weapons. Most of the time she was dirty, filth caked underneath her nails, a coating of dust and grime on all of her clothing, a ring of brown around her neck. But she didn't care. In fact, looking like a boy was exactly what she wanted.

* * *

><p>Before she lived in the forest, up high in the beautiful, huge trees, with assorted orphans and Jet, their leader, older brother figure and inspiration, Smellerbee had lived in a fine home, in a fine town, daughter to a merchant and his wife and sister to two older boys.<p>

Her mother dressed her in pretty robes embroidered with flowers and combed out her long brown hair every day, decorating it with delicate hair ornaments. Her room, one she had all to herself, was filled with porcelain dolls and beautifully carved puzzles, books filled with romance stories and poetry. Her bed was covered with the finest linens and her furniture had all been made by quality craftsmen.

She was skilled in calligraphy and had just begun dance lessons. Her parents wanted her to grow up to be a refined, elegant young lady, able to hold a conversation, an eligible candidate for a good marriage. They loved her, cherished her even but she was to be a typical girl, though and through. Any hint of anything traditionally masculine was frowned upon. That was her brothers' territory and she had better not step into it.

Smellerbee had everything. Then the Fire Nation tore through her town, burning, looting, raping and killing. She had nothing then, and she was completely helpless. She watched as her family died, hiding behind an antique cabinet in the living room, scrunched down as small as she could get, shuddering uncontrollably and biting her tongue to stop her screams.

Alone, she stumbled through the burnt out remains of her home. She couldn't look at the bodies of her mother or her father or her brothers; the sight was too terrible. She wandered then, through what was left of her town. The hem of her pretty robes was covered in ash. They were ruined. Distraught, Smellerbee wanted to cut off the dirty parts, make them go away. Amidst the rubble, she found a knife, the mean looking curved blade still warm from the fires, and slashed. The girl didn't stop until she stood in just her underthings, a solitary, tiny figure, and the one living thing in all the wreckage.

She was ten years old.

* * *

><p>Smellerbee kept the knife that she had found. She used it to cut off her hair. She used it to fend off those who might hurt her. It made her feel strong. It gave her a sense of power. And a few weeks after the destruction of her old life, Smellerbee began to dress like a boy, tucking that knife into a belt and teaching herself how to throw it. People would think twice about messing with her, with her war paint and headband and bits of armor that she had found here and there.<p>

She was strong now and she had power. Smellerbee would never be helpless again.


	9. Chapter 9

**A Little Piece of the Heavens**

"Seriously, Toph, you need to stop." Sokka looked at the sturdy earthbender and shook his head. "I love a good prank as much as the next guy, but yours is getting really old." He rubbed his behind vigorously then, groaning the whole time. "Damn, that hurts."

Toph cackled and clapped the Water Tribe Warrior on the back, hard. "Oh, Sokka, it never gets old. And what's even funnier than the expression on your face every time you sit down on that little spike, is the fact that you still haven't learned to check the chairs_ before_ you park your butt."

"Are you implying that I'm stupid, little girl? Because if you are, I'll have you know that I planned the whole…"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Toph drawled, waving her hand at him dismissively. "I know you're the plan guy and all but when it comes to simple things, sometimes your brain is lacking."

Sokka huffed then, crossing his arms over his chest. "That is simply not true."

"I seem to recall a little cactus juice in the desert among other things." Toph leaned back in her chair, hands behind her head, and rested her dirt caked feet on the table.

"Here," Sokka sighed and tossed over the little bit of space earth that was now shaped like a rather large tack. He could never argue against the cactus juice.

It landed on her stomach and Toph scooped it up, immediately manipulating the material, playing with it, turning it into a series of miraculously accurate replicas of everyday objects. "I still can't believe that this bit of earth actually came from up there." She pointed to the ceiling and Sokka smirked.

"It came from a little further away than the ceiling of Iroh's tea shop," he corrected her smugly.

"Ha, ha, you know damn well what I meant. It's not like I can see the ceiling or the sky anyway." She was tempted to torture the Water Tribesman some more but thought better of it. Toph had been particularly hard on the young man ever since the entire gang had arrived in Ba Sing Se. It was all in good fun, of course, and even Suki got a kick out of most of the pranks. Sokka looked so adorable when he was angry and befuddled. "But," she continued in what was for her a very serious tone, "this bracelet of mine actually came from somewhere other than the world we live on and I can bend the material just like I can bend the earth here. I'll never stop being amazed by that. And _you_ gave it to me." Those last words were spoken softly and she pointed at Sokka, an affectionate expression on her face.

"Spirits save me, the great Toph, our world's finest earthbender, has a heart after all." Sokka put a hand over where his _own_ heart beat rhythmically and feigned pain before keeling over on to the floor.

"Yeah, yeah, but don't let it get around. My reputation would be ruined." She chuckled then and played with her bit of space earth some more.

* * *

><p>Toph wore that bracelet until the day she died and no matter where she went, how she travelled or what she was doing, a tiny piece of her element stayed with her.<p> 


	10. Chapter 10

**Objectivism**

**Link to the Past, Link to the Future**

Suki had been angry plenty of times in her life and she had felt lost and alone more than once too. But her easy going nature usually triumphed over those darker emotions quickly enough. It was different when Princess Azula and her two henchwomen attacked, defeated and then stripped her and her four girls of their Kyoshi Warrior garb; all of it, weapons and headpieces included.

Part of her realized that it was silly to tie up one's identity with a costume; she would be a Kyoshi Warrior with or without the traditional attire. It was the philosophy and the ideals of her group, their specific training and their closeness as a unit that made them who they were.

Still, she felt bereft and naked, in more than the literal sense, and very, very angry, as they were herded aboard a Fire Nation vessel bound for the enemy country. The thin, almost threadbare pants and tunics she and her girls had been given felt unnaturally light and flimsy compared to the heavy kimonos and armor they were all so very accustomed to.

She wanted to rage and scream and weep but Suki was the leader and needed to remain strong. As the five of then sat, chained, in the ship's hold, she instinctively reached for her headpiece, the one that was unique to her and the one that designated her as the Warriors' leader. As the heavy iron chain halted the progress of her hand, Suki shook her head and recalled that, of course, the headpiece was gone. Perhaps it was perched atop Princess Azula's head, sitting there as if it belonged, while_ she_, its rightful wearer, sat in her own sweat and filth.

Anger, anger so powerful that it almost blinded the young woman, surged through her veins. She trembled so forcefully that her companions awakened from their fitful sleeps. Suki wasn't sure if it was day or night anymore. The hold was dim and damp and close and the only time she saw bright light was when food and water were tossed down.

"It's mine," Suki hissed. Her hand reached up again as if she had already forgotten that the headpiece was not there. She blinked back the tears that pooled in her big blue eyes and gazed about the hold.

Four sets of eyes stared back at her, stricken looking, tears in each of them. So much had been taken from her and the girls in just a few days; their freedom, their identity, their dignity. She needed to get herself under control. They depended on her and disappointing them was not an option. Suki gulped and tried to remember what her sensei had told her that day one year earlier, the day she had accepted the position of leader.

_Approaching Suki slowly, the sensei, a powerful and well respected woman in her thirties, removed her headpiece dramatically and held it up for the spectators to see._

"_For years now, I have worn the mantle of leadership. But it's time to remove myself from that position, and hand the traditional headpiece, the one modeled after the one worn by Avatar Kyoshi herself, over to the next generation. Suki has proven herself worthy both in her physical skills and her leadership ones. It is with pride that I place this…" She showed the headpiece to the villagers again, "on her head."_

_Suki flushed as everyone cheered. She was busting with pride but also frightened. The Kyoshi Warriors were under her command and her command alone. Everything they did was up to her now. What if she made bad choices? What if someone got hurt because of something she decided? The headpiece suddenly felt very heavy._

_Seeing the misgivings in Suki's eyes, the former leader pulled her aside._

"_It's a learning process, Suki and I would not have chosen you unless I was confident that you could lead and lead very well. You trust me, don't you?"_

_Suki nodded emphatically. _

"_The headpiece is a symbol, that's it. You are just as strong and just as smart and just as capable without it. Try not to let it weigh you down. And no matter where you end up, conduct yourself as a true Kyoshi Warrior would. I could never ask for more than that; and neither could you."_

The recollection calmed Suki. She spoke to her girls in a strong, clear voice. "It seems that we've lost everything. The thought of my headpiece being worn by the Fire Nation princess boils my blood. It's mine and I want it back. And I _will _have it back, because we _will_ be free again, somehow, someway. I will see to it _myself_."

Suki smiled then, pleased at the sudden and noticeable change in the attitude of the other warriors. And she thought about Avatar Kyoshi and the headpiece that meant so much. She could indeed lead without it. It didn't have any magical properties. But it did inspire, and that alone made it valuable, worth finding. She _would_ get it back, of that she was now certain. And she would cherish it until it was _her_ turn to place it on the head of someone new.


	11. Chapter 11

**Red**

Sometimes Mako fantasized that, stretched out to its full length, his red scarf could miraculously bridge the distance between the present and the past. His mother and his father would be alive once more. He and his brother, Bolin, would have childhoods rather than years of danger and pain and hunger on the streets. That image of the mugger striking down his parents, so vivid and heartbreaking, would be erased from both his memories and his nightmares.

For a few minutes, arms behind his head, lying down on his bed, Mako was happy and whole once more. He smiled dreamily and closed his eyes, reveling in the fantasy. When Bolin crashed into his room, full of over the top enthusiasm and good humour, the fantasy dispersed. It was as if a mirror had been broken and all the shards had fallen to the ground, pretty and glittering but never able to be whole again.

So the red scarf, once his father's, Mako's only memento of the man he had loved and still loved intensely, did NOT have that power. But it was precious nevertheless and he clung to it ferociously. The scarf occupied a place of honour on his bedside table, and every day, no matter the weather, he wore it. Though almost threadbare in places and slightly tattered, the scarf managed to look good anyway.

And it gave Mako courage and it reminded him of where he came from. It amazed the firebender sometimes the level of attachment he had. And occasionally Mako felt almost childish, hanging on to a piece of red cloth. But in the end, the link to his father and by proxy his mother, that it provided, was more important than all the little insecurities he had. People be damned; Mako would wear that scarf until it could no longer be worn. And anyone who questioned his reasoning wasn't worth talking to.


End file.
